


Nobody Trips Over Mountains

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Pressures, M/M, Newspapers, Spanking, Sub Draco Malfoy, Threats of Violence, abusive language, work pressures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Draco is exhausted, demoralised and broken after an awful few weeks. Friends have let him down, workmates have treated him with barely veiled contempt, Lucius is furious with him, and Rita Skeeter has furnished the Wizarding world with vile lies about his character.Draco needs to feel whole again; needs to find himself amongst all the many broken pieces that make up his life. He needs to feel like he’s got a future worth existing for. And he can only, really, do this in the arms of Harry Potter.





	Nobody Trips Over Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> Dear anonymous prompter, this story is for you xxx You wanted Draco to be spanked, so your wish has been fulfilled.
> 
> In this story I wanted to explore the therapeutic effects that spanking has for Draco, and how the physical effects help improve his mindset, and his attitude to the world around him. Spanking could be used for pleasure, or punishment in a Dom/Sub relationship but here the story is more about Draco's emotional wellbeing. 
> 
> The title is from a saying that I really love, and I think really sums up Draco's feelings at the end of the story: 'Nobody trips over mountains. It is the small pebble that causes you to stumble. Pass all the pebbles in your path, and you will find you have crossed the mountain’. (Author Unknown)

#####  _Dark arts and broken hearts?  
A Rita Skeeter Exclusive! _

_Sources close to Draco Malfoy, the elusive and reclusive heir to one of the Wizarding worlds greatest fortunes, have claimed today that he has been left ‘utterly devastated and close to breakdown’ at the news of former fiancée, socialite and renowned beauty Astoria Greengrass announcing her engagement. Ms. Greengrass to due to marry Blaise Zabini, one Kenmare Kestrels most popular young Seekers, later this Spring._

__

__

_Regular readers will know that Mr. Malfoy is no stranger to controversy, his murky past dogged with rumours of the use of Dark Magic objects, and alleged links to Pure-Blood sympathiser groups. As an individual, his well known foul temper, and haughty demeanour make him one of the least popular wizards of his generation…_

_//_

_“No, Draco. I assure you, that is most unacceptable! The sooner you leave that undignified role at the Ministry, the happier both your mother and myself shall be. You do seem to have forgotten your role in the world. A Malfoy does not take any orders from anyone, especially from the sort of Half-Blood do-gooders that run the Ministry. You will be here, at the Manor at eight pm on Saturday for the Ball, and I'll not hear any excuses-”_

_//_

_“You know, I don’t care Draco. I don’t care if your precious Manor is ablaze with Fiendfyre, and all your precious family gold has been stolen by the Goblins. I really don’t care... We’ve given you a chance in the Ministry, a chance to redeem your reputation. So you’ll be here this weekend. You’ll be manning this Potions Department while all your little friends play dress-up and pretend the War didn’t happen… And if you’re not, then don’t bother to show your face here again. You’re here on sufferance. Don’t bloody forget it-”_

_//_

_“I just think it’s pretty shit that Death Eater scum like him should be allowed to eat in the Ministry canteen. If it were down to me, I’d have them all in a cell in Azkaban. I’d let them rot like the dredges of society they all are. Look at him, with his fancy fucking clothes and his sweet little number in the Potions Department. If he didn’t know Potter I’d soon rip that smirk right off his face._

_//_

_“Salazar’s sake, Draco… You’ve got so bloody boring. You never Firecall, and I can’t remember the last time we had cocktails! Honestly, just ‘cause you’ve shacked up with Potter and his ten-fucking-fantastic inches of cock it doesn’t mean you have to dump everyone else. Aren't your mates supposed to come first?-”_

_//_

_“I don’t give a fuck if your Galleons are as good as everyone else's. You know, I used to have a cousin, but he got killed in the War by one of your bastard friends. I’ll bet if we stripped you off you’d be marked, just the same as the rest of them. So piss off. We don’t serve your sort here-”_

_//_

_“Actually, Malfoy, I jolly well do think it’s my business, because it’s my best friend you’re bloody sleeping with! It’s the business of Ron and I to protect Harry, and not see him get hurt again. Could you really promise you’d stand by him if The Prophet exposed your affair? Harry is a good person- a kind person!- and I can’t sit idly by and let him be used. How do I know you’ll not just marry the next heiress that bats her eyes at you?-”_

**** 

It was Friday evening. Draco’s colleagues in the Ministry Potions Department were at the Leaky Cauldron, drinking their weight in beer and, no doubt, taking the piss out of him in his absence. 

Draco usually stayed for a drink and attempted a stilted conversation or two, but this week he hadn’t been able to even muster the energy to tell them goodbye. As the five o’clock bell had chimed, Draco had pulled on his coat and ran for the door. He’d taken the stairs out of fear he might get caught in the lift and forced to make small talk. 

The worst part was, Draco knew, was that he should be thankful. 

Thankful that he wasn’t rotting away, half-mad in a cell in Azkaban, or cold in his grave like Crabbe. 

Thankful that he’d been given a job, entry-level though it was, in a department where he knew he could excel. Thankful that he could start to give something back to the world, when he’d taken so much. He knew he was treated reasonably at the Ministry, and was even paid enough to live without asking his parents for money. 

Draco was thankful that the _thing_ he he had with Potter was still their own, and that the bloody _Prophet_ wasn’t pinning them both down, forcing them to define it, to categorise it for all the world, before they were anywhere near ready. 

Right now Draco was slumped in a chair by his fireplace. He’d collapsed there the moment he’d flooed home, his body raw with strain and nerves. He couldnt stop himself trembling or his heart from racing far faster than he knew was safe. _Maybe he was dying_ , he thought, sadly, for his lungs couldn’t seem to hold enough air to keep him alive. 

His ears were ringing, and he felt frightened, so terribly frightened of just continuing to exist. Draco thought he must have been hexed into place, perhaps a stray curse that’d released a _Petrificus Totalus_ throughout his very core. He was paralysed, trapped and terrified by months of pressure, condescension and insults 

And it’s not like Draco hadn’t tried his very best for months. 

He’d tried to be courteous, and generous with his time. He’d kept his temper and never shown one ounce of privilege. Even when he’d been sworn at, spat at or had wands shoved in his face, Draco had backed down and walked away. 

And he knew he’d changed. He knew that when he looked into a mirror, the Draco who returned his gaze wasn’t the same man he remembered from school. The cocky smirk, the perfectly styled hair and the grey eyes that burned with ambition and desire were all absent. The person who returned his gaze was cowed; frightened of the world, and all of its demands. That’s the price you had to pay when you’re living with the consequences of your mistakes. Like Draco does, every single day. 

_But it was so hard sometimes._ This had been a week where Draco had heard other Ministry workers muttering under their breath, swearing because he’s had the audacity to try to share the canteen with them. A week where he’d then been mocked and belittled by shopkeepers when he’d subsequently tried to buy a sandwich to eat elsewhere. 

A week where Parkinson, his supposed best-friend, hadn’t supported him whatsoever, and where Granger had shown that her opinion of him hadn’t changed one iota either. A week where that _bloody hack_ Skeeter had shaded and ruined his two good friend’s engagement announcement, taking their marvellous, happy news and twisting it into lies and judgments, a character assassination that had neatly destroyed his reputation once again. 

And now it was Friday evening, and Draco knew that in just over twenty fours he wouldn’t be attending his father’s Ball. 

Instead, he’d be at the Potions Lab, weighing and measuring ingredients whilst Lucius grew more and more furious with every passing minute. And it wouldnt matter how many insults, criticisms and snide remarks Lucius threw in his face as a consequence, because Draco _knew_ that there were some at the Ministry who would sack him for the smallest infraction. _He simply couldn’t risk it_. Draco can quite imagine Lucius’ angry recriminations and ire when he doesn’t arrive tomorrow; he can already hear his bullying, braying laugh, and he knows how horrible it will sound.

And sat in his chair by the fireplace, the events of Draco’s week whirl within his brain and inside his heart. 

The strain was like the _Sectumsempra_ spell, slashing away at his insides until he was raw and bleeding. Draco would like to take his wand and smash up his world, and everything that’s a part of it. He’d like to shout, and scream, and run away from everything he knew. Draco wanted that fresh start, that one he knew he’d be denied forever. 

But then Draco stood back up, back onto his feet, and in one fluid movement walked straight back through his floo. _He didn’t have to do this all by himself_ , he’d realised. _He didn’t need to be on his own._

*** 

Draco knew that he had arrived in Potter’s flat far earlier than he was expected. 

He probably looked a sight too, with his tear-stained face, crumpled work uniform and hair that was greasy and lank. But Potter didn’t frown, sigh or make any kind of fuss. He didn’t even speak. He simply stood, placing the book he was reading carefully down onto the table, and walked over to where Draco had fallen onto his knees. 

Stood over him, Draco was keenly aware of the focus that radiated from his lover. Harry was strong, powerful, but most critically, utterly without judgement. It wasn’t unusual for Draco to submit like this; to prostrate himself entirely under Potter’s control, and yield both body and soul. 

And sometimes it was Draco’s pleasure, the pain almost obscenely arousing when Harry hexed, paddled or spanked him. Sometimes it was Draco’s punishment, meted out when he’d slipped into that brattish, self-entitled arsehole that so enjoyed aggravating Potter, winding up the pompous prat till he lost all control.

But to have brought himself to Harry like this; utterly dejected, utterly vulnerable. That was something Draco had never done before. 

Because Draco didn’t want be punished, and he didn’t need pleasure. 

All Draco wanted was to submit; to succumb to Harry’s utter control and escape from the mire of thoughts clustering and distorting within his mind. Draco just wanted to let go, just for a moment, and not imagine he would fly from the surface of the world. 

“What do you need, Draco?” asked Potter, and his voice was quiet, neutral. 

And Draco thought then that Potter might even have used his wand, if he had asked, and really hurt him. His lover’s eyes were steely, and hooded behind those ridiculous glasses that he still insisted on wearing. But that wasn’t what Draco wanted. He needed the _physicality_ , the sensation of Harry bruising and marking his body himself. 

"I need your hands. Will you use your hands on me?… Please?” Draco asked, his voice a near whisper. 

And Draco knew that Potter, a man he’d spent more _years_ loathing than anyone else in his life, understood. 

Harry was the only person in Draco’s life who understood how it is to have the weight of your past drag on you like a shackle; who understood that the friends and family, and job that you love can compress you like a vice. 

Potter was the only person who understood what it felt like to have your face stare out at you from the front of newspapers, day after day; who understood what it was to be the subject of judgement, criticism and objectification and how it never, ever just _stops_. 

And Potter understood how, on nights like this, the idea of existing like this for the rest of your life is agonising. Understood how Draco’s head ached, his lungs burned and his heart raced, and just how scared, and alone Draco truly felt. 

Draco needed to to feel whole again; needed to find himself amongst all the many broken pieces that made up his life. Draco needed to believe he’d got a future worth existing for. And he knew he could only, really, do that in the arms of Harry Potter. 

*** 

Draco and Harry has a ritual on nights like these. A ritual which they had never deviated from, for their routine is almost as inviolable as the spanking itself. Harry stripped Draco down and lay him on the bed. His body felt boneless, pliable, and completely ready for Potter’s bidding. 

And Harry never went in hard, not straight away. Draco loved that his first touches were tender, delicate little rubs and taps that did nothing but warm up his skin. This was just preparation though, for Potter soon started to use more force. He moved onto small smacks with his knuckles, and blows where he used the back of his hand. 

And Draco could tell that Harry was biding his time, as careful and controlled over this as he was every other aspect of his precious existence. Draco could almost hear Potter counting the beats in his head between each strike. Draco could feel him alternating the sides too; he could feel his hand pummelling every piece of his arse cheeks.

As the minutes pass, Draco could feel Harry working faster, a relentless burning rhythm that steadily grew more powerful each time Harry’s hand met his skin. 

And with each connection, each smack of Potter’s hand, Draco found that each of his broken pieces started to heal. 

All those pressures, condescensions and insults that has dogged his week start to dissipate. The friends that didn’t understand, and the prejudice that marred his days begin to disappear. Draco suddenly remembered the _Prophet_ was just a rag that nobody even read, and that even Lucius had no power, really, to hurt him. Not any more. 

With each blow, Draco could feel the pain in his head start to ease. He felt the burning in this lungs start to sooth, and his racing heart start to slow. 

The whole of his body felt relieved, as Potter slowly started to decrease the force he was using. As the spanking session started to near its end, Harry’s strikes returned to the taps and rubs of earlier. Draco’s arse cheeks felt raw and tender, but it was a positive, satisfying pain; hot, tight and aching. 

And as Potter came to his finish, Draco just lay there, wrapped in his lover’s outrageously Gryffindor-red bedsheets. On any other day, Draco knew he'd making a snarky comment about those, and not even feeling one tiny bit guilty. But right now though, Draco was happy to nestle in those soft bedsheets, Harry gently rubbing his back while he basked; momentarily contented and sated. 

Because he’d been transported; taken away from the dark, from the frightening place where Draco feared he’d never leave, to one where he knew he could get up tomorrow and carry on. 

“Do you feel better now?” Potter has asked, but Draco didn’t feel the need to reply. He was blissed out, and felt reconnected with his body in a way that seemed impossible even half an hour ago. 

_Merlin knew, he’d got through far worse in his life than a pissed-off Lucius and bit of negative publicity._ Maybe next time he’d actually talk to Potter before it got this bad again. _But perhaps not_. His lover’s hands had felt divine drubbing him, and nothing in his life had ever made him feel quite as good as Harry’s divine touches. 

Draco even mused a little about falling asleep, but Potter and he weren’t quite at that place in their relationship. 

But he really hoped that they were going to get there. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading xxxx


End file.
